


devil may care

by maddielle



Series: that big picture 'verse [10]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, Blood and Injury, Car Accidents, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Hospitals, Hurt Derek Hale, Hurt/Comfort, Werewolf Healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22989847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maddielle/pseuds/maddielle
Summary: “I’m fine.” Derek swung his legs off the table, sitting in front of Stiles. “You look like shit.”At that, Stiles flailed, heightened emotions shifting easily into irrational anger.“Oh, I’m sorry. Please forgive me for looking like such a fucking mess when literally twenty minutes ago I was two hundred percent sure that my father and the love of my life had both tragically died in a freak car accident on this lovely Thursday evening.”An unexpected accident leaves Stiles feeling shaken.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: that big picture 'verse [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1614649
Comments: 6
Kudos: 349





	devil may care

**Author's Note:**

> just some drama and h/c. physical injuries are described, so just be mindful if that kind of thing bothers you
> 
> set in a future timeline, after college is long done, around the same time as _narrow margins_

When he finally arrived at the hospital, Stiles parked his car haphazardly in the first free spot he saw and jumped out, running for the emergency department sliding doors. Inside, he skidded to a halt in front of the nurses’ station.

“Can I help you, sir?” a woman dressed in green scrubs asked him, an eyebrow raised. She had a stack of clipboards in her arms.

“My- my dad,” he gulped between pants. “The Sheriff. There was a car accident? I’m his son.”

The nurse frowned and opened her mouth, but she was interrupted.

“It’s okay, Tara,” Melissa said, suddenly appearing at Stiles’ side. “I can handle this.”

Stiles turned to Melissa, taking in her rumpled clothes and worried eyes. “Is he okay?” he burst out. “Please don’t tell me he’s dead, please, _please-”_

Melissa hushed him and pulled him into a tight hug. She smelled comforting, bringing Stiles closer to panic and tears than before. “He’s going to be okay,” she said, close to his ear. “Nothing worse than a broken bone, I promise.”

Stiles sobbed once on her shoulder. “Oh, god.” Relief rushed through so quickly that he was left trembling in the aftermath, and he barely noticed someone tapping on his shoulder. Stiles clutched onto Melissa’s arms as he pulled back, looking around, blinking hard. One of his dad’s deputies, Hannah Marlow, stood next to them.

“Hey, kiddo,” Hannah said, voice sympathetic. “You doing okay? Your dad gave us all a scare.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” Stiles wiped at his eyes and then breathed in sharply. “Um. What about- Where’s Derek?”

Hannah frowned, glancing at Melissa. “Who?”

Stiles’ heart pounded. “Derek. He was in the car too. What happened to him?”

“No one else was in the car, Stiles,” Melissa said calmly. She steered him to one side, sharing a reassuring look with Hannah. “I’ll calm him down,” she told the deputy.

As he was led around the side of the nurses’ station, Stiles felt panic rising powerfully in his chest, tightening his breath. “What are you talking about?” he demanded. “Derek was in the car. Dad was giving him a lift. Where is he?”

“Stiles.” Melissa looked him dead in the eye. “Officially, no one else was in the car.”

He shook his head fiercely. “No, no no no-”

“If you’re feeling confused,” she continued, squeezing his shoulders, “go find Scott, okay?”

“ _What?_ I can’t leave my dad! Where the hell is Derek?”

She shook him slightly, firming her tone. “I promise you that I will look after your dad, and that he’s fine. I wouldn’t lie to you about that. You need to find Scott. He’s at the vet clinic.”

“What-?”

 _“Stiles._ The clinic.”

He froze, mouth open.

“The clinic,” he said faintly. “You- He-”

“He’s there,” she whispered.

He straightened, hands grasping at his pockets for his car keys.

“I gotta go,” he said, making a beeline for the entrance to the emergency department, not sparing a second glance for Hannah or anyone else. Outside, he picked up the pace and ran to where he’d parked the Jeep, quickly sliding into the drivers’ seat and slamming the door shut.

“Do not panic,” he ordered himself, running shaking hands over his head. “Do _not_ fucking panic.” Jitters momentarily abated by sheer force of will, he turned the key and backed out into the road.

Under normal circumstances, the drive across town would have been about ten minutes. Stiles’ desperation paired with empty streets due to the late hour meant he was pulling up to the clinic and killing the engine in a record six. The lights were on inside the building, and he caught a glance of Scott’s car, along with Deaton’s.

And Isaac’s. And Erica’s.

Stiles swallowed against anxious nausea as he barged into the office. As soon as he was inside, he stopped in tracks, fixed in place by a horrible roar arising from the back rooms. The hair on Stiles’ arms stood on end. He swore and bolted past reception into the first exam room with the door ajar.

A hectic scene greeted him.

Isaac and Boyd stood at the end of the exam table, legs braced as they held down a squirming Derek by his thighs. Erica held on to his left arm with two clawed hands while the other strained at a leather cuff. Deaton had his palms flat on Derek’s chest. Stiles watched in horror as the veterinarian shoved the heel of his hand against Derek’s ribs, a sick crack and another cry of pain ringing out.

“Oh my God!” Stiles blurted. Five pairs of eyes suddenly snapped to him, but Stiles’ attention was fixed with alarm on Derek; blood and sweat streaked his face, pupils ringed with bright blue.

“Scott,” Deaton said loudly. “Get him out.”

“What? No!” Stiles struggled as a body stepped in front of him, herding him backwards. “Scott, please-”

“Come on, man.” Scott pushed Stiles through the door and shut it hard behind him. Stiles pulled at him desperately, trying to get him to budge.

“Scott, fucking _move!_ Get out my way, I have- I have to-”

“Hey. Hey!” Scott said, raising his voice. “You can’t be in there. It isn’t safe.”

“I don’t fucking care,” Stiles seethed, shoving at his friend.

“Stiles, come on-”

“Move!”

He tried to hip check Scott with all his body weight only to find himself pinned in a tight embrace, arms trapped by his sides.

“Scott, please,” he said desperately, tears of fear and frustration spilling onto his cheeks.

“He’s gonna be okay,” Scott whispered fiercely, squeezing tighter.

Stiles dropped his forehead to his friend’s shoulder, realizing he probably wouldn’t be able to shake himself free. He opened his mouth but couldn’t force any more words, just shaking his head in shock.

“It’s gonna be alright,” Scott said. He shifted his arms so he could grip at the back of Stiles’ neck. “They’ll take care of him, I promise.”

“I can’t lose him,” Stiles cried. He flinched hard as Derek howled on the other side of the door.

“I know, buddy. I know.”

“I can’t. I can’t…” He trailed off into hiccups and whimpers, fingers clawed into Scott’s shirt. Scott’s arms were like a vice, keeping him tethered when Stiles truly felt like he might scatter to jagged pieces all over the clinic floor.

He didn’t know how long they stood there, locked together under the harsh lights of the clinic’s hallway. He kept his eyes screwed shut, trying as hard as he could to block out the rest of the world, and it was only when Scott finally loosened his arms that Stiles distantly registered the lack of noise coming from inside the exam room.

“They’re done,” Scott said, hands on Stiles’ arms. “It’s over.”

Stiles sniffed loudly and rubbed his palms into his eyes. He took a deep breath, feeling his lungs protest at the movement, and met Scott’s worried gaze. He then squared his shoulders and said, “I need to see him.”

Scott hesitated before shifting to the side, pulling the door open with him.

It was eerily calm in the room, quiet apart from Derek’s laboured panting. Boyd and Isaac still had their hands on his legs, but their touch was gentle and comforting. Erica had a hand pressed to his forehead, the veins of her arm pulsing black as she drew on his pain, and Deaton was busy undoing the buckle on the cuff.

The older man looked up when Stiles entered the space, nodded, and made space for him on Derek’s other side. Stiles stepped up to the table, eyes flitting across Derek’s bared chest. Angry black bruises painted his right side, some bones visibly swollen against his skin, and his breath seemed to stutter with each inhale. His eyes barely opened when Stiles brought a hand to his cheek.

“ ‘-iles,” Derek muttered.

“Yeah,” Stiles whispered. “I’m here.”

“D- your d-”

Derek frowned, mouth fumbling with the words.

“My dad’s okay,” Stiles filled in, stroking under his eye with tentatively. That small but important piece of information seemed to settle Derek, who sighed lightly and closed his eyes, brow unfurling. Stiles turned his attention to the rest of the pack. “What the hell happened?”

“It wasn’t foul play. They went off the road coming in from the preserve,” Scott said quietly. “Probably hit a patch of ice. Derek took the worst of it against the passenger side, but your dad was still knocked unconscious. He was completely out when we got there just before the ambulance did.”

“How’d you get there so fast?”

Scott lips twisted. “Derek stayed awake long enough to call me, and I called 911. There’s no knowing how long it would have taken someone else to find them if he’d also been out cold.”

“Jesus,” Stiles said hoarsely.

“He’s a tough one,” Erica murmured, thumb caressing her former alpha’s temple.

“His ribcage was in bad shape,” Deaton offered. “I had to rebreak the worst of the bones so they could set themselves properly. Otherwise, he might have died later from a collapsed or punctured lung. Accelerated healing doesn’t work so well in that case.”

“It’ll work now, right?” Stiles asked.

Deaton just nodded towards the werewolf on his examination table with a small smile. When Stiles looked down, Derek’s eyes were fully open, his gaze clearer. The worst of the bruising on his chest was already yellowing. “Ribs are already done knitting,” he grunted, pushing himself up. Stiles scrambled to help with an arm at his shoulder.

“Slow down there, dude!” he exclaimed. “Super werewolf healing does not exempt you from needing to recover from traumatic and painful experiences.”

“I’m fine.” Derek swung his legs off the table, sitting in front of Stiles. “You look like shit.”

At that, Stiles flailed, heightened emotions shifting easily into irrational anger.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Please _forgive me_ for looking like such a fucking mess when literally twenty minutes ago I was two hundred percent sure that my father _and_ the love of my life had both tragically died in a freak car accident on this lovely Thursday evening.”

Derek sighed. “Stiles-”

“Don’t you fucking dare brush this off, Derek Hale, I swear to god. I will wait until you’re properly healed just so I can kill you myself.”

Derek regarded him for a moment before glancing over his shoulder. “Can we have a moment?”

Warily, the rest of the betas along with Scott and Deaton filed out of the room. When the door clicked shut again, Stiles couldn’t keep from collapsing in on himself a little, leaning back against the countertop.

“I’m physically okay,” Derek said, after a while.

“I know you are,” Stiles muttered at his feet.

“Talk to me.”

“I’m-” Stiles bit his lip, hard. “I was so scared.”

Derek said nothing, regarding him with soft eyes.

“It’s been so long,” Stiles continued, fingers twisting together, eyes peeled to the tiled floor. “Since we’ve had any emergencies to deal with. I guess I’m not as used to it. And I couldn’t stand it if I lost the people I love to something as goddamned trivial as a patch of ice on the road.”

When Stiles glanced up, taking in Derek as he sat shirtless on the table, he couldn’t find any evidence of pain or injury on his body. The bruises were gone, and Derek breathed easily. It was as if the whole thing had never happened.

“Please come here,” Stiles begged suddenly. “Please.”

Derek stood in a flash and drew Stiles to his warm, solid, _alive_ body. He pressed endless _I love you_ ’s into his skin, rocking gently from side to side, pulling back just enough so they could kiss each other hard, affirming their presence to one another.

“I can’t lose you, I just _can’t_...”

“You won’t,” Derek replied in a murmur. “Not today.”

They stood together in the quiet of the exam room for a while, trading kisses, and Stiles couldn’t seem to go a single second without feeling Derek against his lips, tasting him, listening for the hitches in his breath. He ran his hands up Derek’s sides, feeling the solid breadth of him, tracing the grooves of his freshly healed ribs.

“We should go see your dad,” Derek said when they broke apart, moments later.

“Yeah,” Stiles exhaled. “Yeah, we should.” He laughed wetly. “You might have to drive.”

Derek gave a half smile and kissed his forehead. “Fine with me.”

After a quick call to the hospital to confirm that the Sheriff was indeed recovering just fine with a partially broken forearm, Derek drove them back to the house so he could grab a change of outfit and dispose of his ruined clothes properly. Stiles resolutely kept his head turned as the bloodied fabric was stuffed into a plastic bag and dropped in the outdoor garbage bin. As Derek got back in the car, he kissed Stiles’ hand without a word before pointing the Jeep towards town.

A visibly relieved Melissa met them at the emergency department entrance when they arrived at the hospital.

“Glad to see you in one piece,” she said seriously, to Derek. “Scott filled me in.”

“I owe him,” Derek told her. She just smiled and beckoned them inside. Up two floors in his own room, John Stilinski was sitting up in bed, dressed in a hospital gown with a fresh cast on his lower arm. Stiles put on a dramatic face and groaned when he walked in with Derek in tow.

“Seriously, dad?” he complained. “It had to be your right arm? You’re gonna be useless, I’ll be waiting on you hand and foot for ages.”

“Pretty sure I should be the one complaining. I’ve been mentally preparing myself for weeks of salad since I woke up.” John grimaced good-naturedly. “Get over here.”

Stiles sank into his father’s embrace gratefully, careful of his fresh injury. When he straightened again, John reached past him for Derek’s hand and said, in a low earnest voice, “Thank you.”

Derek just nodded, but Stiles frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Derek pushed me out of the way,” John elaborated, leaning back again. “Took the worst of the impact. I’d be dead if he hadn’t been with me. My deputies are already suspicious about the state of my windshield.” He shook his head. “Hannah called it a miracle, and I’m inclined to agree.”

Stiles spluttered and threw his hands in the air. “Okay, so neither of you are allowed out of my sight for the next year. Maybe the next ten years.”

Derek rolled his eyes and drew him into his side to kiss his temple as John chuckled. “I’m just hoping the mayor sees this as incentive to finally install roadside barriers along that stretch,” his dad said, settling back into his mountain of pillows. “I’ve only been recommending that for years now.”

“I cannot believe you are using your near-death experience as political leverage,” Stiles said, sighing. “But, honestly, I’m not surprised.” He tapped his dad on the leg. “How long are they keeping you?”

“Overnight,” Melissa stated, breezing into the room and setting a hand on John’s shoulder.

“Overnight,” John grumbled. “I’m fine, though.”

“Just to watch for concussion,” she said sweetly. To Derek and Stiles, she added, “I’m looking after him for the night if you kids want to get some rest. I’ll call if something changes.”

Stiles nodded and shared a look with Derek.

“That’s probably best. I’ll come back tomorrow morning, okay, pops?”

“Alright, bud.” John lifted his uninjured arm in a small wave at the two of them. “Thanks again, Derek.”

Derek relaxed enough to give an acknowledging smile before herding Stiles from the room and towards the elevators.

Back at the house, Stiles waited just until Derek had his shoes off before crowding him onto the couch and holding on with both arms and legs wrapped around his torso. Derek let him cling, bringing his feet up and tucking his face into the crook of Stiles’ neck, and they sat in a tangled pile and breathed together until Stiles began to feel his arms go numb with the force of his grip.

“No more of that,” he eventually said, words muffled against Derek’s shoulder. “My poor human heart can’t take it.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“I mean it.” Stiles leaned back to meet his werewolf’s eyes. “No more.”

Derek stroked the sides of his face with warm palms. “I’ll try.”

“You’d better.” Stiles kissed him once, twice, slowly and deeply. “You’re stuck with me, sourwolf. We’re gonna live to be old farts together, and that is absolutely nonnegotiable.”

Derek released his answer against his lips. “Understood.”

“Good. Now take me to bed.”

In their room, Stiles stripped himself and his lover in the dark before they both climbed under the covers together. He lay on his back and pulled the duvet up around Derek’s shoulders to create a private cocoon for them to press together in. Derek released a warm breath against Stiles’ shoulder as he entwined their legs and softly drew their hips together.

“I don’t think I have the energy,” Stiles said into the tiny space between them.

“It’s okay,” Derek replied. “I just want to feel you.” He then leaned his head down to claim Stiles’ mouth with his own. Stiles let himself be kissed for a moment before gently separating their lips.

"Hey," he started. "Um. Just. Thank you." 

"He's your father. You don't have to thank me. Between the two of us, I was much more likely to survive." 

Stiles frowned and wrinkled his nose. "On paper, sure. In reality... I don't know what terrified me more: the thought of losing him or the thought of losing you. I'd never be able choose one of you over the other."

Hushing him, Derek pulled him closer with an arm around his lower back. "You won't have to, alright? We're fine." He kissed both of Stiles' cheeks, his forehead, his chin. "We're all fine."

True to his word, Derek remained content to just touch Stiles with familiarity, running his hands along long arms and legs, humming when Stiles did the same. They drifted off much later after what felt like hours of tender kisses and whispered promises, and Stiles only finally passed out when he shifted to rest an ear close to Derek’s heart. As he relaxed his body, its calm beat filled his ears, and he allowed the rhythm to steady his own pulse until he was lulled to sleep.


End file.
